


Sniper

by jovialmaverick



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: cute babes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jovialmaverick/pseuds/jovialmaverick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>drabble where numbers and wrench are camped out on a roof waiting for a target, rifle and all</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sniper

     Jesus Christ, was it cold. They had been laying on this roof for hours now. Numbers swore frost was developing on his ridiculously pompous coat. Wrench was adamant on bringing along a few blankets to lay underneath of them as they awaited their target. Numbers wouldn’t admit that his idea had probably saved both of them from hypothermia. Sighing, his vision was momentarily clouded by his foggy breath. He would make sweet love to a snowman in a frigid meatlocker made out of ice in the middle of Antarctica totally naked if it meant that he could pack up and go back home.

 

But right now, both money and his reputation were on the line.

 

Numbers adjusted the way he was laying, his fingers numb as he changed his grip on the rifle he had been holding for the past three hours. Well, save for the momentary banter with Wrench every now and then. His partner was wrapped up in a heavy blanket, complete with ridiculous mittens and two coats. Not to mention a hat that obscured his profile. He had been looking through binoculars for as long as Numbers had been holding the rifle. It was a pretty good setup. Nudging Wrench’s arm, he pried his fingers away from the gun.

 

 

‘They said midnight. It’s well past 2 AM. What the hell do you think is taking so long?’ Numbers’s teeth were chattering, his hands nearly frozen, making it rather difficult to sign coherently.

 

Wrench merely shrugged in response, looking back through the binoculars. At the sound of a heavy door closing, Wrench’s breath hitched a little, his hand waving in Numbers’s face as he kept his sight set on the ground below them. Looking through the scope, he hastily searched for their target. There he was. Identical to the pictures they received. What a fucking fop. He surveyed the surrounding area a little better, making sure the man was alone or at least distanced from any of his colleagues. Receiving another nudge from Wrench, Numbers knew it was clearance.

 

He slowly drew a deep breath, holding it as he adjusted himself one last time, an icy finger resting on the trigger. Now the cold didn’t entirely matter. The rush of adrenaline just from the prospect of a kill started to cure the numbness. Numbers kept a steady tracking on the head of their target, biting his lip as he finally pulled the trigger. Boom. It was clean, blood spattering the door he had been dumb enough to barely move away from. Numbers caught the man’s eyes going completely dead as he slowly fell, blood quickly pooling beneath him.

  
He glanced over at his partner with a slight grin before nodding. Wrench’s blank expressions looked emotionless to anyone but Numbers. He could tell the difference between each and every. Wrench was proud of the both of them. Now, they were good to go. Numbers forced himself upright with a quiet groan before disassembling the rifle. He jumped a little whenever he felt something envelope him from behind. Wrench was hovering behind him, adjusting the blanket around Numbers’s shoulders. With a knowing sigh, he shook his head and continued packing up, trying to make the dumb grin on his face more discreet as he buried the lower half of his face beneath his scarf. Time to go home.

 

 


End file.
